


Oh, Who Knows?

by Icarus (Slickarus)



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: I just wanted to make sure that the tags for each relationship was updated, Most of these are some kind of AU, Multi, Read the description for each one, The only relationships tagged are the romantic and/or sexual ones, Who freaking knows - Freeform, Why do I do this, random as hell, there are more pairings than I have listed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-10-05 08:55:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 14,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10302926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slickarus/pseuds/Icarus
Summary: 1 fic author + 1 character list + 1 number randomizer: This mess. Enjoy.Ranging from sibling to screwing, this is an experiment to see how many different ways I could shuffle these characters around. Chapter title indicates focus characters.





	1. Wendla/Anna/Otto

**Author's Note:**

> A series of one-shot fics based on pairings/groups that I get from a randomizing site. Will update periodically. Anyone's fair game. Some romantic, some platonic, who knows. Chapter title will be the pairing, individual warnings will be in the notes before each chapter. This is mostly just a writing exercise for me, but I hope you enjoy it as well. Also I'm bad at editing so I kind of just post as I finish. Let me know if you like any of these - I love feedback!  
> For the first one:  
> warning: mentions of violence, f slur.

Anna had a lot of fears coming into her new school. What the other kids would think of her formed most of those fears on the list. To top it off, she learned that this was one of those schools that had a separate table for kids with allergies at lunch, so she couldn’t bond with her classmates like she was supposed to. Would she always be the weird kid?

 _At least I’m not alone_ , she thought as she rolled up to the table on her first day. There were two kids sitting there- a boy and a girl. She had her dark hair in two pigtails, and he wore a striped shirt like a sailor. They turned to look at her when she put her tray down.

“I like your dress,” the girl said. It wasn’t anything special today, but Anna smiled.

“Thank you.”

“What’s your name?” The boy said.

“Anna.”

“I’m Wendla,” she said. “And this is Otto.”

“And we’re both allergic to peanuts,” he said, gesturing to the empty table.

“Does it run in the family?” Wendla and Otto looked at each other.

“We’re not related,” she said, laughing.

“Luckily,” he quipped. Wendla gave him a push with her hand.

“Uh, I’m allergic to peanuts, too.”

“Then that’s one thing we have in common. We’re already on our way to becoming friends,” Wendla smiled.

 

* * *

 

In middle school, there wasn’t a peanut table anymore, but they still sat together. Otto would braid Anna’s hair while she braided Wendla’s.

“I hear Melchior got suspended again,” Anna said. Otto rolled his eyes.

“Why do we always talk about him?”

“Do you have anything more interesting?” Anna turned back to look at him and he shrugged.

“What was it for this time?”

“Sassing a teacher.”

“He does that every day.”

“Yeah, but this time he called her a fucking moron.” Wendla gasped.

“Otto!”

“I’m just quoting!”

“Still, what if someone hears you?”

“What does that even mean?” Anna said.

“What?”

“Fuck.”

“Oh, um,” Wendla thought for a second. “I’m not sure. Otto?”

“I just know you’re not supposed to say it,” he said. “Maybe I’ll ask Melchior what it means when he gets back.”

“I’ll be he doesn’t even know.”

* * *

 

High school, they didn’t always have the same lunch period. But Wendla’s band teacher didn’t mind her skipping class, so she cut on Fridays, and Anna cut French on Tuesdays, and Otto scheduled his meeting with the guidance counselor on Wednesdays so he could get out of math, and then skipped _that_ so he could eat lunch with the girls.

And since Otto was the first one to drive, they all met up after school also so he could take them home.

And then one day he didn’t show up after school.

Wendla pulled her winter coat tighter.

“I know I saw him in chemistry this morning,” she said.

“You’d think he would tell us if he knew he’d be late.”

“It’s been almost 20 minutes. Should we go looking for him?” But they just waited there, staring at the main entrance, hoping he’d run out any second with an excuse on his lips.

Instead they saw Greta Brandenburg, whose eyes went wide when she saw them.

“You need to come quickly,” she said. They followed her back into the building, confused, as she explained in fragments, not quite able to speak clearly.

“I was walking during practice - I don’t have much time - I saw them leaving - It was late - So I went where they’d been - Oh god, it’s awful.”

They wanted to ask what she was talking about, but then they saw him leaned up against the lockers.

“ _Otto,_ ” Wendla gasped, putting her hands over her mouth. Anna moved closer, leaning to cradle his head in her hands. There was blood staining his shirt and the linoleum. His nose was the source, and his eye and cheek were purpling as well. From the way he breathed shakily, there must have been some wounds the girls couldn’t see. He smiled when he saw them, and his teeth were stained pink. Greta mumbled something about having to be at practice and ran off, leaving the three of them alone.

“Hey,” he said.

“What happened?” Anna demanded, already preparing to fight whoever did this.

“I stayed late to talk to my English teacher, and on the way to my locker I got jumped.” He shrugged.

“By whom?”

“I don’t know all their names. But it was Rupert and his friends, you know, the assholes.”

“I’m gonna kick their fucking asses,” Anna said.

“Later,” Wendla said, putting a hand on Anna’s shoulder. “Otto, do you know why?” He shrugged again.

“Dunno, but they just started kicking me and called me a fag. And like, sure, I like guys, but I’m currently in the most heterosexual relationship I could be.”

Anna laughed as Wendla helped him to his feet, and he leaned on Anna’s chair for support.

“Speak for yourself,” Wendla said. “It’s pretty queer from this side.”

“That’s because _you’re_ pretty queer,” Anna said, and Wendla leaned down to kiss her cheek.

“Can you still drive us home, stud?” Otto grinned.

“Sure thing, babe.”


	2. Martha/Ilse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of canon-compliant situations. Alternate title for this is "Fight or Flight"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also it's first person POV

The streets change when you get close to my house. They go from pavement to gravel and finally you’re on a dirt road and you have to drive slowly in the summer so you can see where you’re going. I forgot, though. It’s been a while.

The last time I came home was also the last time, I thought. I only stopped long enough to grab the last of the things that were mine, truly mine, before leaving for what would have been forever. I passed Martha, though, standing in the doorway with wide, silent eyes, and for a second I almost stayed.

I never meant to come back, but sometimes life changes on you.

It was late June when I got a message on Facebook from her. I couldn’t believe my eyes. How many years had it been?

_ Is this really you, Ilse? _

I typed back  _ how did you find me? _ More curious than accusatory. I had moved, changed my hair, even my name. I had tried to tear away every bit of me that lived in the past.

_ It’s a long story, but I want to tell it to you. In person. _

_ Martha, you know I can’t come back. _

There was a long pause.

_ They’re dead. _

I needed the address of the house I’d lived in for fourteen years of my life; I couldn’t remember it. But as I get closer and closer, the road becomes clearer in my memory and my hands start to shake so hard I can barely hold the steering wheel. I park on the drive and take the slowest steps of my life towards the front door. I take the heavy brass knocker and listen for footsteps after I’ve swung it twice.

The door opens softly, well oiled, and I see her.

“Martha.”

I don’t think I would have recognized her if I hadn’t seen her profile picture. We’re supposed to look the same, but her eyes have decades on mine. She’s smaller, too, but there’s also something that I wasn’t expecting to see. She glows.

“It’s been so long,” she states. I nod, unsure of what I should do. She pulls me into a hug, and I can feel a familiar warmth. This would be home, if I had one. “Come in,” she says when she pulls away. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Do you have any tea?”

The kitchen is nothing like when I left it. Sure, the furniture’s largely the same, but Martha’s redecorated and repainted and the old kitchen is replaced with a sunny room of pale greens and whites and big windows. I sit at the counter like I used to, and Martha moves easily behind the counter to pull out a kettle and mismatched mugs. 

“You look wonderful,” Martha says, avoiding my eyes.

“You, too.”

“Truly?” I nod.

“Better than I’ve ever seen you.” She smiles, and it’s small, but gorgeous.

“I didn’t know what you would look like,” she says after a moment. “You’ve changed a lot.” I nod.

“We both have, I imagine.” She pulls a box of tea bags out from the cupboard where our mother used to keep them. Some things don’t change. “How long have…”

“Two years ago for mom. A little less for dad.” It’s curt. A fact. “I wanted to invite you to the funerals but I didn’t know where you were.”

“I don’t know if I would have gone,” I admit.

“I don’t blame you.” She leans against the counter and looks at me. “I don’t blame you for anything, but…”

“But what?”

“I wish you hadn’t left, Ilse.” My stomach twists.

“I had no other option-”

“Yes you did. You could have stayed, like me.”

“And you could have left, like me.” She shakes her head.

“You know I couldn’t. Not with mama’s heart, not with mine. Ilse, we’re not all as able as you are.”

“What was I supposed to do?”

“I said I don’t blame you, Ilse.” She goes silent, staring at the bubbling kettle.

“Was it bad? I mean, I know it was bad, but did it get worse?” She stills stares. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come back.” She shakes her head, still staring.

“No, I needed to see you. I think that was the worst part. Not him, and not mama, and not losing them, but losing you.”

“I missed you every day, Martha. It’s so hard; I tried everything I could to stop thinking about you.”

“I never wanted to forget you. I always thought about how much you meant to me, and how much I had to push on because of it.” She looks at me, and I reach out my hand. She takes it.

“Well, I’m here now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how they're sometimes twins? Yeah. This one took a long-ass time to do, but overall I'm pretty pleased. Also this is completely unedited; I apologize.


	3. Melchior/Reformatory Boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why did I put the reformatory boys on my randomizer list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for foul language out the wazoo, mentions of sex, and homophobic slurs.

They all thought Melchior Gabor was a myth, at first.

After all, when they found Reinhold half-naked on the couch with no one around, of course he’d make up some handsome stranger who’d fucked him senseless and then left the next day.

“He’s real, I swear!”

“Sure, sure. A guy named  _ Melchior _ really goes to our school.”

“Your name is literally Ulbrecht.”

“That’s my last name, cocksucker.”

“Whatever.”

“Get some fucking clothes on.”

And that was that. Reinhold looked around for Melchior online, but couldn’t find shit. Maybe he  _ had  _ made him up in a drunken fantasy, but none of his friends needed to know that Melchior might not be real.

But then one morning, Rupert walked out of his room to make breakfast and made the mistake of going shirtless.

“Well, well,” Dieter said. “Would you look at those fuckin hickeys.”

“Shut up,” he grumbled as he sat down with a bowl of cheerios.

“Who’s the unlucky lady?” Rupert didn’t respond.

“Aw, come on, we won’t tell. Or was it a fella?” Rupert’s cheeks began to pink.

“Reinhold was right,” he said. “Melchior Gabor is a real guy.”

“I  _ told _ you guys!”

“We didn’t fuck,” Rupert shot back. “‘S too drunk.”

“Congratulations,” Reinhold said sarcastically. 

“So this Melchior has fucked Reinhold and been confirmed to be real by Rupert.”

“Thanks for the summary, genius.”

“Hang on,” Dieter said. “I’m getting to the point. And you lads are gonna like it.”

“What’s the game?”

“Whoever can find this guy and fuck him wins - no cheating - and we all have to see him, Reinhold.”

“That’s creepy as fuck, dude.”

“Not if it’s consensual. And that’s one of the rules.”

“Fuck off,” Ulbrecht said. “That’s the queerest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You’re just scared you’ll lose,” Rupert said. “How much are we playing for?”

“How much have you got?”

“I’ll put in twenty.”

“Reinhold?”

“Yeah, twenty’s fine.”

“Ulbrecht?”

“You think I’m gonna seduce some dude just so I can get sixty bucks out of it?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m in.”

“Okay. Rules are you gotta have sex,”

“Consensual sex.”

“Yeah, you perv, consensual sex, and you gotta keep him here long enough for us all to see that it is, in fact, Melchior Gabor.”

“You’re going down.”

“That’s not fair though,” Ulbrecht said. “Rupert and Reinhold already met him. They know what they’re looking for.”

“Guess you’re gonna have to work harder, then,” Rupert said. “I’m off to win me sixty bucks.”

“Asshole!” Ulbrecht called after him as he slammed the door shut.

“Don’t worry,” Dieter said. “He probably didn’t sleep with Rupert because he’s fucking ugly.”

“Like you’re such a dreamboat.”

* * *

Since it was a Saturday, none of them had any luck in spotting the guy on campus. None of them even had a clear picture of what he looked like; there was only that name.

Dieter tried to ask around, but he realized that he didn’t know a lot of people outside of his roommates. So he sat on a bench in the quad like a creep and started asking randos if they knew the guy. Most people just ignored him, but one girl stopped short when he said the name.

“Do you know him?” She narrowed her eyes.

“Why do you care?”

“I made a bet with my buddies to see who can find him first.”

“Why the fuck would you do that?” Dieter shrugged.

“None of your business. Do you know where I can find him?”

“None of  _ your  _ business,” the girl said, walking away. Maybe this wasn’t the best plan.

Reinhold decided to do what had worked for him last time - hit up the party scene. And hey, it was Saturday night, even if he didn’t find this guy, he could probably score some tail. He soon realized that he had no idea how he was gonna find Melchior among the colored lights and grinding bodies, so he decided to fuck Dieter’s game and just see what happened.

Rupert went to the library because he remembered something about the guy liking books, but passed out on the comfy chairs as soon as he got there.

Ulbrecht stayed home.

* * *

The next morning, somehow or another, everyone made it home in one piece. Rupert woke to the smell of cigarette smoke coming from the common area.

“You dick, I thought I told you to smoke outside-” He stopped short when he saw not one, but two heads turning to face him from the couch. Next to Ulbrecht’s sleepy gaze was a hazily familiar face. “Holy shit. Dieter, Reinhold, wake the fuck up!”

“What is it?” Dieter padded out of his room with Reinhold behind, even groggier from last night.

“Ulbrecht fucking won.” Dieter turned to the stranger.

“You’re Melchior Gabor?” The guy smirked.

“In the flesh.”

“How the fuck did you find him? I was looking all day.” Ulbrecht shrugged.

“I emailed him. He’s been here all night.”

“Guess I didn’t notice.”

“Well, boys, looks like Ulbrecht wins again.”

“Congrats,” Melchior said, extinguishing the cigarette on an ashtray he produced from fucking thin air. “And if the fourth guy ever wants a go, call me.” He sauntered out of the room with his shirt still off, tucked into his back pocket.

“Christ, I didn’t think you’d win this one,” Rupert said after the door swung shut.

“Yeah, well, you morons couldn’t even figure out how to find him. I had to bring some intelligence to this room.”

“Hey!”

“Whatever. I win, you lose, now I’m going to go finish sleeping.” He got up and went back to his room, shutting the door behind him.

“Dickhead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was this a mistake? Probably.


	4. Ilse/Anna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interpret this however you like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important: set in a boarding school (high school), not a college.

It’s two a.m. when Anna wakes with a start at the sound of the window screen being pried open.

“Jesus Christ,” she mutters under her breath, hauling herself closer to the window and opens it as wide as it’ll go.

“Thanks,” Ilse says, breathless, as she drops to the floor. She lies panting for a moment before she sits up. “I should probably shut that.”

“Yeah,” Anna responds, getting back under her warm covers. “It’s like two degrees outside.”

“I was so close to being caught,” Ilse grins, and the streetlight outside reveals a wild fearlessness in her eye. She pulls the shade down, immersing the room in total darkness. “I heard security coming and I sprinted all the way here.”

“You could have stayed in Wendla’s room; I doubt anyone would have noticed.”

“I wasn’t in Wendla’s room.”

“Oh!” Anna hopes Ilse can’t hear the shock in her voice.

“Yeah, we broke up like a month ago.”

“And you never told me?”

“You didn’t ask.”

“What were you doing instead?”

“It’s a perfectly cloudless night, so I thought, fuck it, it’s senior year and I’ve never been caught before. I’m gonna go look at the stars.” Anna hears a shudder from the other bed.

“Guess it was pretty cold out.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you need help warming up?”

“Do you mind?” Anna shakes her head, then remembers that Ilse can’t see her.

“Come on over.” Ilse crosses the distance between their beds and slips under the covers, pressed right up against Anna on the twin mattress. Anna feels her own heartbeat speed up and hopes Ilse doesn’t notice.

“Mmm, it’s so warm over here.” She yawns, and nuzzles her face closer to Anna. “You don’t mind if I-”

“No, go ahead.” Ilse throws her arm over Anna’s side and slowly starts to breathe more evenly. “Hey Ilse?” It’s barely a whisper.

“Mmm.”

“I love you,” Anna says quietly. Ilse doesn’t respond, only breathing, and Anna assumes she’s asleep. But Ilse hears, pressing her silent grin into the sheets.

_ I love you, too. _


	5. Melchior/Thea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: does not end happy, implied nsfw themes, some nonconsensual actions.

The first time Thea met Melchior, they were five years old and he gave her a crushed bouquet of dandelions that he’d been picking. She fell in love. Hard.

But he had other things on his mind and spent recesses on the bench for talking back, and she wasn’t supposed to sit with him. So she played princesses with her sister and looked over at the boy and wondered what she was feeling.

Once she was old enough to call it love, he was even less interested. He had his friends, and she had hers, and with their classes she couldn’t see him enough to pine anyway, so he became a low-level hum in the back of her consciousness.

But when they got to high school, her crush kicked in full-swing like it had never left. But Melchior would barely give her the time of day; he saw her as some kid still. He saw everyone like that. Maybe she could find him somewhere else, so she looked in other people.

She dated Otto and they went to get ice cream and her strawberry cone melted when he talked about class and she found herself staring out the window more than at his face. They kissed once, then he said he had to go home, mama’s waiting. She washed her hands of the sickly-soft sweet and apologized to him in a note three lines long.

She listened to Georg’s piano etudes and admired his focus over the black and white keys but he broke it off in a series of minor chords, but she didn’t cry that night.

Hanschen was smart as a whip and dangerous like one, too. He made her feel breathless, always on her toes. His lips were made of fire and his hands were magic; maybe he matched her. But he was so close to the boy she really loved that every time he laughed, she saw someone else in her mind. She left him hot and panting and never really sorry.

She couldn’t hold back her feelings much longer; she was desperately, hopelessly in love with a boy she never saw. She would go to the library when he was busy studying, but he was to engrossed to notice. She got closer to his friends and even sat with them at lunchtime, but he never looked her way.

Then one night, it happened. It was someone’s party, and she didn’t really want to go but she knew he’d be there. She only had eyes for him. And he finally smiled back. They took it upstairs in a flurry of hands and a million kisses, then lay there sweating in a stranger’s house.

“I love you,” she said, and heard him laugh.

“We’re sixteen,” he spat. “There’s no way you know what love is.” But at that moment, her heart crumbled to dust and blew away. He put his arm around her for a second time, and she had to bite her lip to hold back the tears as he covered her with kisses.

She didn’t cry until she got home, collapsing into a heap and all but disappearing.

When he got home, he lit a cigarette and forgot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it hurts but I'm actually pretty proud of this one. Also IDK why Thea is always written as Hanschen's sister but she's obviously not in this one.


	6. Ernst/Greta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not romantic at all. Putting Greta on this list may have been a bit of a mistake, but I'm doing my best.
> 
> Nothing to watch out for except a bunch of churchy stuff from someone who never went. Suspend your church knowledge please.

Cherry blossoms and dark wood pews and big windows casting streamered light down into the church greet Ernst when he hauls open the big doors that morning. The flowers are already tastefully arranged and lend a sweet, pleasant scent to the space despite the high ceiling. No one’s there, though, they must have gone to do prepwork elsewhere. He runs his hand along the rows as he walks slowly, hearing only the sound of his feet against the stone floor and the birds outside. Nothing like a spring wedding.

He straightens his stole and smiles at his reflection in the window - he can’t help it. He doesn’t usually dress up, but today feels special. Weddings often do. He’s done so many, but they never get stale. Something about uniting two souls in eternity really lightens his heart.

He checks to make sure his materials are all in order - not that it matters very much; he could probably lead the ceremony from memory, and that’s when he hears a soft, unfamiliar sound.

He stands still for a moment, but the sound doesn’t fade, so he starts to follow it. It’s faint, but steady, and it leads him out of the main sanctuary and off towards the women’s restroom. Being this close, he can hear clearly the sounds of someone crying. He hesitates, then knocks. The crying stops.

“Hello?” He presses his ear to the door, hoping for a response.

“Who is it?” A woman’s voice that Ernst doesn’t recognize.

“I’m Reverend Ernst Robel. I’m just checking to see if you’re alright in there.” A loud sniffle. “May I come in?”

“Ernst?” The door swings open.

“Oh, Greta. I didn’t expect to see you here.” Greta wipes at her eyes.

“I know. I should be happy, shouldn’t I? Bride-to-be, and here I am, crying on my own wedding day.” Her body buckles a little, like she’s about to start crying again, and Ernst puts out a hand to steady her.

“Would you like to sit down?”

They walk to the empty pews and sit; Greta leans into his shoulder. A moment passes in silence.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she finally says. “I’m what, twenty, and I’m getting married? What kind of life is that?”

“But you love him, don’t you?” Greta nods.

“So much, and of course I want to get married, but now that it’s here I just… I don’t know.” She sits up to look at him. “You’re still so young, aren’t you. I remember when my older brothers would play with you and all the other boys. How did you know, Ernst?”

“Know what?”

“That this is what you wanted. I can’t imagine committing myself to something so,” she gestures to the high ceiling  _ “huge _ , when I’ve still got so much of my life left.”

“I guess I always knew that this is what I wanted. I haven’t had to make many sacrifices, because the things I need, I have.”

“But what if I don’t know what I want?”

“I can’t help you with that, Greta. Maybe you should tell him, though, if you’re worried. I’m sure he’d understand if the time isn’t right.”

“But everyone’s expecting me to walk down that aisle. Everyone I’ve ever known.” Ernst smiled at her.

“They can wait, if you need them to. They love you. And if you make the wrong decision today, there’s always time to fix it later.”

“Do you mean it?”

“Truly.”

“Is it okay to hug the reverend?” Ernst nodded, and Greta wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’ll see you when I get married,” she whispered.

“I can’t wait.”


	7. Ernst/Thea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No romantic (between the two of them, anyway. Somehow this turned into Hernst.) I'm pretty happy with this one, tbh.

Jesus, the kid next to her was shaking like a leaf. Thea leaned her back against the wall and tried to go to her happy place, but the images in her brain library kept getting knocked around because of what’s-his-face shaking the bench at a frequency that was honestly impressive.

“Hey kid,” she spat. “Hold still for a second, will you?”

“I’m sorry!” He squeaked. She turned to look at him. He might be a freshman, but he was pretty tall for one. His nervously wide eyes were trained on the floor. He reminded her a little bit of a really, really scared puppy. She almost felt bad for him.

“Remember to breathe,” she said. “It’s not that bad.”

“You mean it?”

“I mean, I guess it depends on what you did.” The kid shuddered. “But it’s never awful,” she said quickly. “At worse you might get detention, and that means you get to take a monitored nap. Believe me you’ll be fine, uh,”

“Ernst,” he said. He looked at her and tilted his head to the side. “Have I met you before?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You look really familiar.” She smirked.

“Maybe like a guy you know?” He blushed. “Tell me, Ernst, are you familiar with Hanschen Rilow?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, pleased to meet you, I’m his twin sister and family failure, Thea.” She extended her hand and he gave it a shake. “What brings you to these parts?” He hung his head.

“I, uh, got caught breaking a school rule.”

“No fucking way, me too!”

“Okay, fine. I was, uh, in a restricted area.”

“I wasn’t aware we had restricted areas. And I think I would know.”

“I only know one, so far.”

“Which one?”

“Janitor’s closet.” Thea leaned forward and propped her chin on her fist.

“And tell me, Ernst, what were you doing in a janitor’s closet?” If he was blushing before, that was nothing compared to the red that consumed his face now. He mumbled something quietly. “What was that?”

“Kissing your brother,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Jesus fucking - so  _ you’re  _ the guy!”

“Huh?”

“The”- she made air quotes with her fingers- _ ”incredibly beautiful guy, Thea _ . No wonder Hansi’s been coming home all smiles recently.”

“He really said that?”

“The question is, if you’re here because you got caught, where is he?” Ernst pressed a hand to his face.

“He had to go to the bathroom, so I waited in the closet. They found me there, waiting for him.”

_ “No. _ Really?” Ernst nodded. “When I get home, I’m gonna-”

“It’s my fault, really. I shouldn’t have waited where anyone could find me.”

“He’s still going to get the old Rilow talking-to when I see him.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Maybe I want to, Ernst. You seem like a real good guy. I’m glad baby bro found you.”

“Baby bro?” She pointed to herself.

“Two minutes earlier. Tell me, Ernst, are you two going steady?”

“Meaning?”

“Does he send you notes? Bring you presents? Hold your hand in public? Because if he’s making you happy like I’ve seen, you deserved to be respected in this relationship, not just fucked in a closet.”

“We didn’t fuck!” Ernst protested. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, he does all those nice things. I think I’m falling in love with him, honestly.”

“That’s so cute I might just vomit.”

“Sorry.” Ernst tapped his foot on the floor. “Hey, so what did you get in trouble for?”

“Oh, I punched a teacher.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're enjoying these, thanks for your support. HMU anytime if you want me to do actual prompts and not just randomized ones.


	8. Hanschen/Martha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not romantic, just cute.

When the faded blue pickup parked in front of her house, Martha flew down the stairs and started to put her shoes on.

“Where do you think you’re going?” She froze. Her parents hadn’t told her that her aunt would be here.

“Um, I-” she was interrupted by three rapt knocks on the front door. Her aunt shuffled over and opened it.

“May I help you?” Hanschen smiled with the most charm Martha had ever seen out of the boy who looked so distant at school.

“Hello,” he stuck out his hand and her aunt took it for a shake, but he kissed her hand instead. Martha had never seen the woman blush before. “My name is Hans Rilow. I’m here to take Martha to the library.”

“Oh,” her aunt exclaimed. “Well, don’t let me stand in your way.” She smiled, and it looked foreign on her face.

“I’ll be back later,” Martha promised, shutting the door on her way out. “Impressive,” she said as she followed Hanschen down the drive towards his truck.

“I have my moments.”

“Did you bring the basket?”

“Martha Bessel, never in my life will I forget to bring the basket.” She laughed as she climbed into the passenger seat of the truck and they drove off.

The sky was blue and endless, and the highway seemed empty except for them. The radio was set to a classic rock station, but they turned it down so they could talk.

“You didn’t tell me you were supervised.”

“I didn’t know. How’d you get away?”

“My father’s working, and my mother couldn’t care less. I think she’s glad to see me out of the house.”

“I almost didn’t think I could make it.”

“I’m glad you did, and not just because Ernst is also out of town.” Martha shoved his shoulder playfully. “Hey, I’m driving!”

They got to the lookout around lunchtime, so Hanschen grabbed the picnic basket from the backseat and followed Martha out towards the tables. A few of them were occupied, but they found one a little offways from the main group. They sat on the same side so they could both look out over to the water.

“I didn’t know what you wanted, so I brought, like, 7 sandwiches.” He started pulling each individually wrapped sandwich out and Martha laughed. “And if you don’t want any, well, there’s a couple over there that has a very tasty looking chicken, and I’m sure they’d be willing to share.”

“I’m more than okay with a sandwich,” Martha said as she unwrapped hers. Hanschen picked out his own and put the rest in the basket.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have brought so many…”

“To be honest I would eat literally anything you brought.” He shrugged.

“Guess I’ve got lunch this week.”

After they finished lunch, they walked out to the main lookout area, and Martha held the basket while Hanschen took pictures of the water and the birds.

“Go lean on the rail,” he instructed, and she did, striking a pensive pose. “Perfect.” The picture caught her braids being tugged by the wind and a smile just beginning to creep onto her face as she turned her head. “You could really be a model, Martha Bessel.”

“Speak for yourself.” She leaned in as Hanschen snapped a selfie.

“Well yeah,” he said. “I  _ know  _ I could, but I didn’t want to say it out loud.”

“Then I’ll say it. You look great.”

“Excuse me,” a woman said to Martha. “Could you take our picture?”

“Sure!” She handed Martha her phone and stood with her family with the water behind them. Martha got a couple pictures and then handed it back.

“Thank you, dear,” the woman said. “You two are adorable.” Martha looked over at Hanschen and had to bite her lip to keep from laughing out loud. She joined him leaning on the railing.

“That woman thinks we’re dating.”

“I’m pretty sure every person here thinks we are.”

“Thanks for taking me today, Hansi.”

“Thanks for coming.”

“Maybe we can do this again sometime.”

“You like hiking?”   
“Ooh, good idea.”

They got back into the truck after a little more looking and taking photos, and they started to drive back towards Martha’s house. They arrived before the sun had even set and Martha gave Hanschen a pat on the head as she got out of the truck.

“Goodnight Hanschen. It’s been a beautiful day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So on my last chapter someone asked if I'd do requests and the answer is yes! You can request pairings/situations either for this or for other works in the comments section or on any of my sites, including  
> Tumblr [(theater specific)](https://thereinkiss.tumblr.com/) [(main)](http://zartharn.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/slickarus)  
> The next chapter will be a pairing that has already been requested.


	9. Moritz/Martha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> User RileyAnnaOlson asked for Moritz/Martha, so here it is! Although not necessarily romantic.
> 
> Note: I've never worked at a museum. At the nat gal near where I live, you can apply to the copying program and get permission to sit and paint copies of the art in the gallery.

He was, by far, the youngest copyist.

Martha knew a lot of them because they’d say hello to her when they checked in at the desk to get their easels, or when she passed them on the tour. Most of them were quiet, older, and lived in the area. Those were the regulars, anyway. Art teachers from nearby schools or retired people with a passion and a talent. But, again, the average copyist was at least forty.

But he was young, about her age, she guessed. An art student somewhere nearby, with the right teachers and credentials to get access to the copying program. In the first few weeks, Martha didn’t get to see him very much; he didn’t come during her shifts. She’d never checked him in, so she didn’t even know his name.

But she knew that he was young, he was good at what he did, and he liked to take up space when he painted. The older copyists had neat little work stations, but Martha usually saw him in an emptier gallery where he could spread out a little. It was only ever a problem on a crowded day. Some of the other employees would complain about him and tell him to clean up, but Martha didn’t mind so long as there was no one around. He must have noticed this, because he started coming during her shifts more and more. She began to pass him on every tour she led. He never said hello, but he’d often wave when he saw her leading the tours. By seeing him so much, Martha could tell just how good he was. He focused intensely when he painted, and his copies held something vibrant that not even the originals had. She learned he liked ocean landscapes the best, but he’d paint anything.

She never saw him check in with her, even after he started coming on her times. This frustrated her, because she had so many questions to ask him. She wished that he’d use those soulful eyes to look on her like he did when he was painting.

On one particularly rainy day in April, no one showed up for Martha’s tour, and because there weren’t many people in the museum anyway, she was free to wander the galleries as long as she kept an eye out for strange activity. Nervously, she began to walk her route, hoping that she’d run into him today. About a third of the way through her walk, she finally spotted him. His hair was still damp from the rain outside, and he had just started copying a painting spotted with colorful wildflowers.

“Good morning,” she said after some hesitation. He didn’t respond, so she walked closer until he could see her in front of him. He looked up, smiling and waved. He looked at her for a moment, hesitated, then began signing.

_ “Good morning.” _ Martha grinned.

_ “Your painting looks beautiful.” _ He breathed out a sigh of relief, and looked at his canvas.

_ “I just started, really. No tour today?” _

_ “No, too much rain. I thought I’d look at the galleries.”  _ He patted the bench next to him and looked up at her with questioning eyes. She sat, her leg pressed against his.  _ “I’m Martha.” _

_ “Moritz.” _

_ “Are you a student?” _

_ “Yes, I’m in my third year.” _

_ “Me too. I don’t study painting, though.” _

_ “What do you study?” _

_ “Psychology, and also art history.” _

_ “That’s why you’re here?” _

_ “Yes.”  _ She looked back over at his easel.  _ “Why are you here?” _

_ “What do you mean?” _

_ “I would think young artists wanted to do their own work, not copy other people’s.” _

_ “I love creating, but I’m happiest here. I can turn off my mind and just focus on the way my brush moves against the canvas. I don’t even have to think. Somehow I find that trying to create something out of nothing is harder than copying.” _

_ “What’s your own work like?” _

_ “Big. Right now I’m painting big blue shapes, huge, on giant canvases. Biggest I can find. It’s hard to explain. You really should see it.” _

_ “You should show me.”  _ Moritz blushed.

_ “I should.” _

_ “How about this weekend? I get off work at 6:30 on Saturday.” _

_ “That’s perfect. And we should go eat dinner together. If you want to.”  _ Martha laughed.

_ “I’d love to.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italics denote sign language.  
> If you have any prompts, feel free to comment below or hmu on [tumblr](https://thereinkiss.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/slickarus)


	10. Anna/Georg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Romantically involved, too cute, don't blame me.

Anna keeps secrets. People just tell them to her, and she keeps them. They trust her. Anna must be the number one keeper of secrets at the entire school. She knows about how Hanschen got an erection in every single art history class during sophomore year because Hanschen randomly told her one time. She knows about how Ilse gets out her anger by crocheting hats with expletives on the front. Ilse even gave Anna one that says “FUCK” on it - she wears it sometimes (folded back, of course.) She knows who Melchior has a crush on, hell, she knows who  _ everyone _ has a crush on.

They don’t know who she has a crush on, of course, and there’s a good reason for that.

It goes something like this: if there’s one thing every one of her friends agrees on regardless of gender, sexuality, religion, political affiliation, socio-economic situation, etc., it’s that it is O.K. to make fun of Georg Zirschnitz. Somehow the cliche nature of picking on the nerdy kid with glasses completely escapes them, and the result is an endless torment of snide comments and taunts to the boy who, poor thing, still hangs out with them anyway. Yeah, they’re not  _ all _ monsters all the time - Moritz, for example, told Anna once that the reason he makes fun of Georg so much is so that everyone doesn’t make fun of  _ him _ . Or there’s Otto, who secretly hangs out with Georg on the weekends. But in public,  _ especially _ when all of them are together, Georg becomes, well, a whipping boy.

Anna probably wouldn’t mind this so much if she didn’t have a massive, raging crush on the guy. I mean,  _ come on _ ! He’s awkward as hell, sure, but he’s smart and he’s funny and Anna once walked on him playing the piano and had to go sit down for a while because  _ wow. _ He’s pretty easy on the eyes, too. And even though she’s been harboring the crush for, like, two years, it’s been harder to hide since Georg hit that growth spurt. What can she say, Anna likes taller guys. 

But nobody can know, like, ever. If they knew, well, she doesn’t know what would happen, but she’s afraid of it. So she keeps herself at a safe distance and then fantasizes about him when she’s supposed to be doing her homework. And plus, she doesn’t really see him very much outside of, like, lunch with all of her friends, so she never has to face him one-on-one.

Well, almost never.

Anna plays flute. She started in sixth grade because she had to, but she kept going because, well, the flute is a lovely instrument. She doesn’t play in the school’s band anymore, but she does love playing, so during fourth period on Fridays she goes to the band room and plays. No one else has that period free, so the room is hers and she can play flute to her heart’s content. There’s another one of her secrets - she looks forward to it all week.

So it’s Friday, right? And she’s sitting in the middle of the room because  _ why not _ , and she’s seriously in the zone. She turned on a basic drum track and she’s going ham on some jazz improvisations because this is her time, damnit. She barely notices when the door opens; she only turns around after she finishes because she didn’t hear any sounds besides the initial door opening/closing.

“Woah.” Staring at her, wide-eyed, is none other than Georg. He’s got a folder full of sheet music tucked under his arm. Anna is immediately full of conflicting emotions, from  _ holy shit he heard all that _ to  _ damn he looks impressed; I sounded good _ and also general screaming internally. She tries to think of something cool to say that’ll make this feel less weird, but what comes out of her mouth is-

“You don’t have this period free,” which is tied for most awkward and creepiest thing she could say right now. Great.

“I, uh, I-” he begins to gesture with the hand still holding the sheet music and drops it, spilling it all over the floor. What’s weird is what happens next- Anna doesn’t laugh at him. She helps him pick it up. Anyone else would have busted out laughing at Georg’s clumsiness, or at the very least made some sarcastic remark. They make eye contact as she hands him the last few pages and Anna’s traitorous brain can’t help but think how  _ cute _ he looks when he’s flustered. He’s blushing, and Anna decides, for once in her life, to spill a secret.

“Don’t tell anyone,” she says, echoing the words she’s heard so many times from her friends, “but I’d really like to kiss you.” Georg nods wordlessly.

Soon, Anna adds a new secret to her list - dating Georg Zirtschnitz.


	11. Georg/Hanschen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything's just sort of mentioned - Romantic maybe? Sexual definitely but like, they're mostly kissing. I don't know why this came to pass but I think I like it?

Everyone just assumed the first one was a bruise.

Come on,  _ Georg had a hickey? _ Ridiculous. Plus, it was on the back of his neck. Who even kissed there? Everyone was so sure that it was definitely not a hickey that no one even made jokes about it.

The second one was on his shoulder, so no one even saw it until he was in his track uniform. Ernst noticed the bruise on his shoulder and asked if he was okay, and Georg just said he’d walked into a wall. Sure, it looked a lot splotchier than any normal bruise, but Georg was so clumsy anyway and who would even kiss Georg’s shoulders anyway?

No one saw the third one.

But when Georg sat down at lunch one day with an unmistakeable bruise tucked just inside his collar, no one could deny the singular fact that someone was giving this boy hickies. The biggest question now was who? And they had to dig if they wanted to know, because when Thea asked Georg who he was hooking up with, he laughed and told her that he wasn’t hooking up with anyone. Which was obviously a lie.

“Do you think it’s someone we know?” Moritz asked Melchior on the bus.

“Who?”

“The person Georg’s screwing.” Melchior snorted.

“Please. It’s gotta be a stranger. Anyone who  _ knows _ Georg would never.”

“But what if it is someone we know?”

“Did you have someone in mind?” Moritz shrugged.

“Martha’s always been nice to him.”

“Martha’s nice to him because she’s nice in general. She’s not interested.”

“Well, no one else is.”

“Which is why I’m saying it isn’t someone we know. I bet he’s getting freaky with his piano teacher.”

“She’s like 80!”

The mystery continued. They all had theories. 

“C’mon, tell us,” Ilse begged the next day at lunch. “If we guess right, will you tell us?”

“What? I’m not-”

“Yes you are, Georg, and if you don’t tell us, we’ll make you.”

“You don’t have to sound so threatening.”

“I bet it’s Otto,” Anna said.

“Please,” Otto said, rolling his eyes. “I would never. Is it Ernst?”

“Because I’m gay, huh? Is that it?”

“It’s not anyone at this table, I swear,” Georg said.

“So there  _ is _ someone!”

“Wendla, I think we knew that at this point.”

Like many a mystery, it eventually faded from their consciousness, though, and Georg learned to wear a goddamned turleneck. Everybody nearly forgot about the whole thing.

Nearly.

Hanschen sat down at the usual lunch table with a purple and yellow mark smack dab on his neck. Georg choked on his salad a little bit, but nobody noticed.

“Wow,  _ Hansi _ , looks like you had a good evening.” Hanschen laughed.

“I suppose I did.” He winked across the table and Georg felt like he was melting. Otto snorted and elbowed Georg.

“It’s Hanschen, isn’t it?” He muttered so that only Georg could hear. He didn’t need a verbal response with how red Georg’s cheeks were. “Nice. They’ll never believe it, though.”

And Georg was pretty glad of that fact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Log that one away for rarepair I never thought I'd write.


	12. Thea/Melitta

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're sisters, get your head out of the gutter.

“C’mon, Thea, I’ll never ask for anything again.”

For one, that was totally false. Secondly, it was strange, because Thea rarely needed to be convinced to do anything. Usually Melitta was the one being persuaded. But Thea stood firm.

“I don’t even know how to play the drums.”

“It literally couldn’t be easier. You just have to keep it in time, honest. It’s only two songs. You only need one hand.”

“Don’t you have anyone else you can ask?” Melitta pouted her bottom lip in a move that would have looked absolutely ridiculous on anyone else, but tugged at Thea’s heartstrings. “Okay fine, you win. I’ll play in your stupid band.”

“Yes! Thank you so much!” Melitta ruffled Thea’s hair and bounded upstairs, probably to call her friends and tell them that Thea would play. Thea sighed.

Twenty minutes later, she was behind the wheel on the way to their school while Melitta had her feet up on the dashboard in the passenger seat.

“What happened to Otto? Didn’t he play drums for you guys?” Melitta huffed.

“He quit, like, today. Apparently his ‘girlfriend’,” she made real air quotes, “is also competing and he wanted to help her instead. But A., they’re not even dating, poor guy, and B., there’s no rule that says you can’t be in more than one band. But I think she wants to sabotage us.”

“I’ll try not to let you down, then.”

“You know you won’t, Thea. It’ll be great.”

“You say that now, but what about halfway through when I, I don’t know, drop one of the drumsticks?” Melitta laughed.

“We’ll work it into the set. Oh, park here.”

Thea parked the car (quite expertly, in fact) and Melitta hopped out to grab her bass from the backseat while Thea stared nervously at the lights of the auditorium. She wasn’t  _ scared _ . Thea didn’t get scared. 

She was just, let’s say,  _ overwhelmed _ . Overwhelmed by all the people tuning their instruments and practicing their solos, but she held tight to the drumsticks that someone had given her and she kept her eyes trained on the back of Melitta’s head as Melitta talked to the other members of her band. This was not Thea’s scene. Thea did not feel like she should be here. She looked down when she felt Melitta squeeze her hand.

“I promise, everything will be fine.”

Standing in the dark of the wings waiting to go on actually calmed her down a little. She caught Melitta bobbing her head along to the music that was playing onstage and smiled. She could do this for her sister - if Melitta could go up and perform, she could too.

“Now coming to the stage,  _ Junction!” _ The announcer yelled, and the crowd cheered as they filed onstage and went to their positions. Thea sat behind the drumset and squinted under the bright lights. She knew they all needed her to start, but she was frozen in her seat. As she realized how long she was taking, the panic set in a little bit, making it harder to move.

“It’s okay,” Melitta was suddenly whispering next to her. “You can do this.”

“I don’t think I can.”

“I believe, Thea. You’re gonna kill it.” Thea nodded, swallowing a massive nervous lump in her throat. She nodded again to the band, who got ready to play, and she hit her sticks together to start the song off.

And then she was lost.

But not in a bad way. Lost in the music, in the steady beat of her hands and the infectious bassline and the sound of the vocals and the harmonies mixing together and the way she could feel each note vibrate through her feet. She was so in the zone that she almost didn’t finish when the song was over, but luckily her hands knew what was happening better than her brain did, so the song ended on time and the crowd cheered and Melitta threw a thumbs-up back at her and everything was fine, fine, fine.

They came in second place and went out for pizza to celebrate.

“You know what,” Melitta said between bites. “We might just have a spot for you, Thea.”

“I’ll think about it,” but she was grinning at her sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events aren't inspired by anything (picture a battle of the bands), but I did know two twin sisters who played bass and drums idek I thought it worked but I don't know where this came from. As always, feel free to hmu and let me know what you liked (and what you didn't).


	13. Martha/Thea/Ilse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not romantic, canon compliant - so watch out - specifically the scene after Mortiz's death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess this could technically work as a musical fic but it's really a play-based story. The first two lines of dialogue are taken directly from the play (translation by Jonathan Franzen).

“Is it true, Ilse, that he’s lying in there without a head?”

“He must have loaded it with water - there was blood splattered all over the cattails. His brains were hanging in the willows.” Martha twisted her braid and looked back down at the slightly crushed petals scattered across the dirt. 

“Martha!” She jumped when she heard her name, but when she turned she was relieved to find Thea, whose cheeks were still red and puffed. Thea began to smile when she saw the girls. “Ilse! Thank God.”

“Where were you? I didn’t see you or your family.”

“My father didn’t want me to come, and no one blamed him. I snuck out.” She held a single flower in her hand and dropped it onto the dirt to join the others. “I tried to run here, but I had to stop several times. I kept crying when I thought about how horrible it was. Papa said he shot himself.” Thea’s shoulders shook and Martha wrapped an arm around her friend and tried to keep herself from crying, too. Ilse’s hands began to shake and she didn’t know what to do.

“It’s true,” she said, the words heavy on her tongue. “I saw him after.”  _ And before. _

“I would have been so frightened,” Thea wiped tears from her eyes. “I could never…” The three girls stared at the grass, all knowing but none saying what they knew she meant.

“You’ve grown so much, Thea,” Ilse said with half a smile on her face. “It hasn’t been very long, has it?” Thea shook her head.

“You’ve grown, too. Changed. Every day I see you, you’re more of a woman.”

“And I feel like more of a girl.” Martha’s eyes made their way back to the dirt covering the headless boy.

“I wish I could have seen him, too. Not after, but before. To tell him...to tell him  _ something _ to make him stay.”

“I don’t know what you could have said,” Ilse nearly whispered. “A boy starts thinking thoughts like he did, there’s no way to stop him. Bang.”

“I don’t know how to feel. I keep crying and crying but I was so cruel, wasn’t I? He was just some dope, wasn’t he?” Thea kicked a pebble with her toe. “Still, you can’t imagine the hole in my heart.”

“If it’s anything like the one in mine, I can.”

“We shouldn’t be so sad,” Ilse said, “It doesn’t do any good, does it?”

“No,” Martha agreed. “I don’t want to cry. I half want to join him, floating around on the wind.” Thea took her hand, Ilse her other.

“I want you to stay here.”

“I want that, too.” They stood there in a ring, hands clasping hands, girls being girls again. A circle above the boy, more powerful than prayer.

“But still,” Martha said. “We’ll plant flowers here.”

“Oh, yes,” said Thea. “Flowers every day. And they’ll grow and they’ll bloom and there won’t be death here anymore.”

“We’ll make them grow.”


	14. Ilse/Otto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not romantic, not canon-compliant but Ilse's situation from the show is mirrored here.

Surely you’ve heard the one about the gardener? No?

Well, the story doesn’t really start with him - his life until its beginning was utterly unremarkable. Worked hard in school, but you know how it goes. Sometimes you get lucky, and sometimes you work trimming hedges. At least he liked hedges, and always smelled of fresh soil and blossoms in the springtime. But, like I said, the story doesn’t start with the gardener.

It starts with the girl, as stories often do. She didn’t come from a very big family, but it was an important one. So important, in fact, that when she was born, she was given a gift. Or possibly a curse. The two are often interchangeable. Wherever she walked, flowers would spring up from her footprints. Lovely gesture, very nice, thank you, her mother nodded and smiled and waved away the giver. After all, although this kind of blessing was commonplace still, they rarely came to pass nowadays. Flowers where she walked? Unlikely.

Her family almost completely forgot until the girl took her first steps across the carpet and pansies sprung up through the floor.

So she wasn’t allowed to walk inside anymore.

You’re probably thinking that, despite the issues with interiors, having flowers grow where you walk would be quite nice. Flowers smell pleasant, look pleasant, and brighten up a yard or a garden. You’d never have to buy another seed or bulb, so long as you didn’t mind the variety.

And you’re nearly right. All of these things are true about flowers. But the one thing that this girl needed to do more than anything else was run, and her gift made it impossibly hard to hide.

“Ilse,” her name sounded like it was coming from a snake, creeping, dark. She shuddered from under the bed, praying that the flowers had withered on the stone floors. He couldn’t find her all the way up here, could he? So many rooms in such an empty house. But his voice followed the trail she left and found her wherever she ran. “Storytime.”

And when you can’t run anymore, you eventually stop trying.

Almost.

She had this itch, you see. An itching in her feet and her legs and as much as she wanted to ignore it - it would be easier to ignore it - it consumed her. Her thoughts fixed on running, running far. 

This is when you will want to remember our gardener.

The hedges he trimmed (and the beds he tended and the grass he clipped and the bushes he watered and the fences he mended) all lived in the same yard. A huge yard. A yard belonging to a man who shouted too loudly, but the gardener worked hard for the man and was able to stay warm and fed. 

One day, the snake (rather, the snake-voiced man) and his daughter (the girl, Ilse) went to the house of the man who shouted too loudly. The gardener watched them walk around to the yard instead of going into the house, and soon noticed why. The girl’s tiny footsteps left blossoms in her wake that grew in seconds. The gardener tried not to stare, but he could not even begin to be angry about the flowers in the middle of the yard when they were so beautiful.

As he was looking, the girl caught his stare, and in the instant that he saw her eyes, he was struck with an intense familiarity. He knew those eyes, or at least, he knew what they meant.

And he noticed the way the snake held her arm to sit her down, and the way she stared down at her own feet more than anyone’s eyes, and the way that she kept glancing over at him. Pleading.

And the gardener realized what he had to do when the two men began to walk around to the front of the house, but the girl jumped behind the flowerbeds (her father never kept flowerbeds) and ran the other way. She hid in the bushes, and the gardener quickly pushed a wheelbarrow over the daffodils springing up in the grass between the bushes and the beds. No sooner had he turned back to his hedges when the men burst back into the garden.

“Where did she go?” The gardener looked up, confused. Where did who go? “My daughter. You must have seen her. Where is she?”

“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t see her.”

“Flowers, look for flowers.” Maybe the girl’s feet were just as smart as she was, because the flowers she’d left in the beds matched the ones already there, and she dove into the bushes head-first. The men railed and roared until they went off to look somewhere else. When the gardener was sure they had gone, he went back to the bushes where she was hiding, and she was still there, so small.

“There’s not much time,” he said to her. “I know somewhere you can stay, if you’ll let me carry you.” He knew that, with those eyes, she might not want to be held, but she nodded her head and he lifted her gently and brought her to the shed. “I can bring you home with me as soon as I’m finished here,” he said to her.

“I’d like that.” He realized that was the first time he’d heard her speak.

“My name is Otto.”

“Why are you helping me.”

“Your eyes,” he said. “They remind me of my mother’s”

“Why?”

“They have the same fear. I suppose these kinds of darkness haunt more people than I thought.”

“I’m Ilse.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ilse.”

The story ends well, you’ll be happy to know. He took her home with him and eventually, she remembered how to laugh, and loudly. They moved away from the snake and got married, but not for the reasons you’d think. It was safer that way, and besides, neither of them needed the other’s love. They built a garden together, and she baked him sponge cakes and he carried her to meet the lovely parlor maid, and they were satisfied. Well, that doesn’t quite do their ending justice. They were satisfied, like a warm belly after a much-needed meal, and it was good. It was very good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since Otto is kind of the least developed character in the musical, I sort of merged that Otto with the two characters from the play that made him.


	15. Otto/Martha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NGL I totally saw this prompt in an au list on tumblr and just hecking went for it. Romance but just barely.

The first thing Martha did when she finally got to college was dye her hair. After eighteen long years of keeping it tightly braided, she could finally let it run wild in curls that floated around her face, and she wanted to keep that free feeling going, so she got her hands on some dye and bam - blue hair. 

Everything was all sunshine and butterflies (after the dye finally washed out of her fingers, that is), until she got a snapchat from her friend Anna.

_ Just hanging with your boyfriend lol _

Accompanied by a blurry zoomed-in photo that Anna had obviously taken across the quad of a boy with...bright blue hair. Same shade and everything.

The first time wasn’t so bad, though. Martha laughed it off and sent a :P face in response.

It was even kind of funny that Anna sent her pictures every time she saw the kid, since it wasn’t super frequent. After all, blue hair wasn’t  _ Martha’s _ . It was a common color. Anyone could have it.

So then why did it stop being okay when Wendla sent her a snapchat of the guy captioned  _ your boyfriend says hi. _ And then when Ilse sent pictures of the guy, who apparently was in her study group, because “ _ I ship you two” _ . And when this stranger become so well-known to their friends that they were making weekend plans, and Ernst suggested Martha ‘invite her boyfriend along’.

Usually she was a very peaceful person, but each joke made her blood boil. She knew this guy went to their school, but she’d literally never seen him. It was as though he was a ghost sent only so that her friends could make fun of her.

But then she saw him. She didn’t even think twice before tearing across the quad towards the shock of blue hair on the other side, and she only hesitated a little bit when she got closer because  _ wow, he was pretty cute _ .

_ C’mon Martha, focus! _

“I need you to dye your hair,” she managed to get out. The boy looked at her, slightly stunned, and then he smiled.

“Uh, it already is?”

“No, I need you to change colors.”

“But blue is my favorite color,” he said sincerely.

“It’s  _ my _ favorite color also,” Martha said. “But you need to change it so my friends stop making fun of me.” His eyes went wide.

“Yours, too? I thought it was just me, so that’s why I didn’t say anything, but oh my  _ god _ , my friends keep sending me pictures-”

“Whenever they see me, yeah. Mine do the same.”

“Well, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Yeah, I guess it’s nice to meet my ‘boyfriend’.” She added air quotes for effect. He laughed.

“Nice to meet my wife. I’m Otto.” He stuck out his hand for a shake, and Martha laughed when she took it.

“Martha.”

“Well, I have to get going to class.”

“Wait! I still need you to change your hair color.”

“To what?” Martha smirked.

“You know what? Maybe we should meet up for lunch or something. To discuss colors.”

“Right. To discuss colors.”

“I’ll text you.” She handed him her phone and he put in his number. “See you around.”

* * *

  
Otto didn’t, in fact, end up changing his hair color. They both decided they were too cute together to change it. And now when people sent Martha pictures of her ‘boyfriend’, they weren’t wrong anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading - if you can spare a second, I'd really appreciate feedback because I'm sort of swinging in the dark here. Feel free to let me know which of these one-shots you liked, which ones you didn't, or even any pairing requests - either in the comments or on my social media:  
> [Tumblr](https://thereinkiss.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/slickarus)  
> Thanks!


	16. Hanschen/Wendla/Ernst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three cuties go to pride. Almost entirely inspired by true events. Brot3.

Red is the color of the subway line you take to get to Dupont circle. Hanschen had to finish his homework before his mom let him go, so he met Ernst and Wendla a little after three. At that point, they had already gone on the DC queer history tour.

“You didn’t miss much, Hansi,” Ernst said after greeting him with a kiss. “It was a lot of ‘ _ see that bank? It used to be a lesbian bookstore. _ ’”

“And the underwear model. He missed the underwear model.”

“Oh, yeah! At the end, this guy, an underwear model I guess - he did a photoshoot where he pretended to be our tour guide.”

“I took pictures because Ernst was too embarassed.” Wendla showed him her phone. “I’m going to have to delete them later in case my mom looks, though.”

“You can text them to me, and I’ll snap them to you.” Hanschen winked.

Orange is the color of the way-too-expensive smoothie Wendla got for free because the cute girl in front of her in line ‘liked her shirt’.

“Wendla,” Hanschen leaned in so only she could hear. “I have no objection to you sneaking off to hook up with the cute glasses girl.” Wendla snorted.

“Like I’d leave you two alone.”

“Who what now?” Ernst handed out the napkins.

“Hanschen’s trying to get rid of me.”

“Am not!”

“Are too! You want Ernst all to yourself.”

“Aww, Hansi, you know you can have me anytime you like.” Wendla gagged.

“No, Wendla’s right. We never get to hang out together like this.” Ernst threw his arms over their shoulders.

“I’m glad that you two are so tiny and I’m so big,” he hummed, and Hanschen pouted.

Yellow is the color of the plastic flower that made its way tucked behind Hanschen’s ear. They managed to snag a spot right on the barrier that blocked the crowd from the parade street. They were squished up against a bunch of strangers but everyone was cheering and generally enjoying themselves.

“Okay, is it just me, or does everyone love Wendla?”

“I love  _ you _ .” Despite the heat, Hanschen wrapped an arm around his waist.

“Seriously though! They keep handing her beads and things, and passing us by completely.”

“Maybe they think she’s ten.”

“I heard that!”

“You have to admit it’s a little weird. Someone standing, like, way over there walked all the way over here to give her a necklace.”

“No offense, but you two are very obviously in a relationship. They probably think they have a chance with me.”

“If only Ilse wasn’t at her grandmother’s.” Ernst high-fived some guy running past with a streamer.

“Look, if you want some beads, just ask.”

“I’d like some. Hansi?”

“What colors do you have?”

Green is the color of the grass they sat on once the sun became too much and they’d had their share of floats.

“I have to imagine this is what being drunk feels like,” Wendla said as she pulled at the grass. “Or maybe it’s much better.” She found a thick piece of grass and blew threw it, making a loud buzz. The three of them started laughing for what felt like the billionth time today. “Yeah, this is better.”

“We should do this again soon,” Ernst said. “I think there’s a bunch of parades next week.”

“Yeah, in, like,  _ New York. _ ”

“We can drive. I’ll drive us,” Hanschen offered.

“It’s six hours! Where would we stay?”

“I don’t know. Do I have to know?”

“Let’s do it. I want to do it. I want to rent a big bus and drive all over looking for parades. I want to feel like this forever.”

Blue is the line you take to get back. They all held hands and walked down in search of gelato.

“Is it just me,” Wendla said after they passed a restaurant. “Or is seeing straight couples, like, really weird now?”

“I’m going to be honest; I was thinking the same thing.”

It turned out the gelato place was closed, so they walked even further and got some ice cream.

“Let’s walk really slowly back to your car,” Ernst said.

“That won’t be hard. I’m so tired.”

“I’d carry you, but I’ve got all this ice cream.”

“That was perfect, you guys.”

Purple is the color that the sky was when they drove home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I know there's no reason to put them in DC, but that's the only pride I've been to.


	17. Anna/Ilse/Thea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't really have any words for this.

“I’m going to mcfreaking kill someone.” Ilse grabbed the handle of her case and slammed the locker shut with more force than necessary. Thea’s sneakers squeaked against the linoleum as she raced to keep up.

“It’s just one day, babe. Next week the practice room will be ours, okay?” Ilse stopped in the middle of the hallway.

“Why aren’t you angry about this?” She gestured widely with her arms and nearly whacked some guy in the face. “It’s our time to be playing, you know that. If they won’t respect our time slot, then they don’t respect  _ us _ .”

“I know, but-”

“Weren’t you the one who literally punched Otto because he broke your stand?”

“And I got in big trouble for that, Ils. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I can’t start anything with whoever they gave our spot to, or else I’m in danger of getting kicked out. Let’s just wait it out until next week, and if it happens again, we can figure it out.”

“No. Maybe you can’t start anything, but I sure as hell can.” Ilse yanked open the door to the practice room -  _ their _ practice room, causing the girl who was inside to abruptly stop playing.

“Oh my god,” Thea breathed. “She’s…”

“ _ One of us.” _ The truly bewildered girl rested her banjo flat on her lap as she looked up at the two girls in the doorway.

“Can I help you?”

“Uhhh,” was all that Ilse could manage.

“I’m Thea, and this is Ilse. What’s your name?”

“Anna,” said the banjo-playing, unfairly cute girl.

“Nice to meet you. Anyway, Anna, we are also banjo players.” Ilse held up her case. “And we usually have permission to use this practice room during 6th period, because it’s the only one big enough for both of us to ban-jam out.”

“Thea, I love you, but that was the worst joke I ever heard.”

“This is your practice room? I’m so sorry,” Anna said. “It’s the only one with a door that I can actually fit through, but you can use it if you want. I just wanted to practice because I love it, and my brother hates it.”

“Say, I have an idea,” Ilse said. “Would you mind if we joined you?”

“Really? I’ve never played with someone else before…”

“It’ll be fun,” Thea offered.

“Okay, sure! It’s the least I could do after stealing your room, I guess.” Ilse waved her hand to dismiss the thought.

“I guess it wasn’t really stealing; it was opening a new door.” Thea rolled her eyes, remembering the rage in her girlfriend’s face not minutes before.

“You could call it that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ? I'm in a bit of a block. I promise the next one will be better (unless you liked the banjoverse, in which case I can't guarantee more banjos. Also why do I have people fall for Anna in practice rooms? The world may never know.)


	18. Hanschen/Otto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a non consensual kiss mentioned? And it's a romantic pairing but only at the end.

_ “Isabella?” _ Otto’s shout could be heard all the way down to the art wing. “Seriously? I’m captain of the sailing team, a  _ starter _ on varsity soccer, and he casts me as a girl?”

“Otto, chill. It’s a great part.”

“Yeah? Well why don’t you do it, huh?” Georg adjusted his glasses.

“I didn’t audition; you know that. I’m going to run sound, or whatever I get put on.”

“This is ridiculous,” Otto muttered. “Just because I’m short.”

“Cheer up,” Georg said, pointing to the cast list and snickering. “You get to spend more time with Hansi.”

“Just what I’ve always wanted,” he deadpanned. “To get cast as Hansi Rilow’s  _ sister.” _

* * *

 

Otto almost showed up late to the readthrough because he was feeling rebellious, but not rebellious enough to actually show up late. But just his luck, that meant the only two seats left in the circle of chairs on the stage were next to Mr. Sonnenstitch, the director (where Otto definitely did not want to sit), or in between Melchior and Hanschen, the biggest rivals in the theater department.  _ And also the two hottest guys in the play,  _ Otto thought unhelpfully. He bit the bullet and sat down between them. Their tension stretched across his seat like spiderwebs and made his stomach seize. Hanschen didn’t greet him when he sat down, only stared intently at his script. Melchior, however, turned and smirked at Otto, and something about it gave Otto the same sensation as having wet socks.

“So you’re playing Isabella?” Otto nodded and hoped his knuckles didn’t turn white with how hard he was gripping his script. “I guess we’re going to make quite a pair onstage.”

“Are you stupid, Gabor?” Otto heard from his left, where Hanschen hadn’t even looked up. “Angelo tries to rape Isabella. It’s not cute, it’s creepy.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Melchior said, turning pink. “And I  _ know _ what happens in the play. I’m just saying I get a lot of stagetime with him.”

“As do I, the only difference being that people won’t want to leave the theatre,” Otto could feel the ‘re’ when Hanschen said it, “when I’m onstage. I can’t say the same thing about your performance.”

“I haven’t even-” Otto thanked every god he could think of when Mr. Sonnenstitch finally called everyone to order to begin the readthrough.

When they were finished, Otto started to put his chair away, but a hand grabbed his shoulder.  _ Hanschen’s _ hand.

“Relax,” he said, amused at Otto’s very not relaxed state. “I just wanted to tell you how glad I am that you say ‘doth’ correctly. You seem to be the only one in this damn play who does.”

“Yeah, well,” Otto said, but he didn’t know how to finish his phrase. Hanschen just laughed and put his chair away.

* * *

 

Over winter break, as Otto visited family and studied his lines, he was becoming more excited about his role. Yeah, he was playing a girl, but so were several other guys (and almost everyone was playing a nun at some point). And Georg was right, it was a pretty great role. He was actually so excited to come back to school and start rehearsing that he was going over lines in the airport while waiting for his flight back to school.

“Otto?” Hanschen looked different when he wasn’t in his dress code. His entire appearance was much more laid-back, even his hair seemed more relaxed.

“Hey.” Otto did the polite thing and moved his backpack off of the seat next to him so Hanschen could sit down.  _ Okay, Lammermeier, you can do this. _ “I didn’t know you lived nearby.”

“I don’t; I’ve got a connecting flight.”

“Oh.” Otto knew he only had a few seconds of conversational hangtime before Hanschen moved on to a book or put on headphones or something, so he took the leap. “I was just running lines, do you want to do it together?”

After thirty minutes or so of running lines (and Otto remembering most of his,  _ thank you very much _ ), they boarded the plane. Otto got to board before Hanschen, and he assumed that would be the end of their interaction until tomorrow, but Hanschen decided to sit in the empty seat next to him on the plane. They didn’t talk, but just existed together in silence for one hour and twelve minutes as they flew back.

They stood next to each other at the baggage claim making small talk and, miraculously, Hanschen continued to stand next to Otto even after his own suitcase had come around the carousel. Otto felt like he must be hanging out with some alternate-universe Hanschen who made dumb jokes and had holes in his jeans, and he wanted the moment to last forever. Sadly, they had to get onto the bus back to school, and Otto finally sat alone in the dark.

* * *

 

Between classes and studying and workouts, rehearsal became a surprise calm time in Otto’s life. However, they were only calm because of the way he only had to focus on the show - all other distractions fled from his mind. In reality, rehearsals themselves were anything but calm. Besides Sonnenstitch pushing them harder than most coaches Otto had ever known, there was the drama that came along with any school production. Unfortunately, despite the fact that this was an all-boys school, there was an incredible amount of relationship drama. Ben was dating Ernst, who rejected Robert when he asked him to the dance (apparently Robert ‘didn’t know’ they were dating), so Robert hooked up with Max, which made Bobby jealous instead, and he managed to forget all of his lines in rehearsal, which only confused Moritz more. It was a clusterfuck. At least Otto wasn’t in that scene.

Unluckily for him, one of the scenes he  _ was _ in involved only one other person: Melchior. The scene itself was fine, possibly his favorite in the whole play. That is, it would be, if he didn’t have to spend forty-five minutes of rehearsal having Melchior aggressively proposition him. Sure, it was acting, but the way Melchior’s eyes looked, cold and hungry, made him just as uncomfortable as his character counterpart. Whatever initial attraction Otto had held for Melchior had completely dissolved and left a bad taste in his mouth. He tried to remind himself that it wasn’t real, but it didn’t do much to ease the heavy fear he felt.

* * *

 

It was tech week when Hanschen walked in on Otto in the large props room with his arms wrapped around his knees during their intermission. Of  _ course _ Hanschen would walk in. Hanschen had been nothing but nice to Otto, if at times a little distant, during these last two months. Sometimes they’d even eat dinner together before rehearsal to run lines. But if there was anyone Otto didn’t want to see right now, it was probably him. Or, you know-

“Are you okay?” No judgement in his voice, Hanschen sat down next to him on the couch, which creaked under his weight. 

“Yeah,” he croaked out. 

“You’re shaking.”

“It’s nothing.”

“You can tell me what’s wrong. I’m not going to laugh, or whatever you’re afraid of.” Otto kept staring at the concrete floor. He felt ridiculous enough already in this wig (although his wig looked better than Max’s, bless his heart.)

“He kissed me,” Otto mumbled.

“What?”

“He kissed me-”

“I heard what you said. Who kissed you?” Otto sighed.

“Melchior. We were running our scene, you know, and there’s the part where he pushes me up against the wall, and tonight he just - it’s stupid. Lots of guys would kill to kiss him.”

“He’s never done it before?”

“No, but Sonnenstitch loved it. They’re keeping it in. And it’s not like I have a problem with kissing guys, it’s just-”

“You weren’t expecting it. It felt too real?” Otto nodded. “I’m going to kill that bastard.”

“Don’t. I can take care of myself. It’s really not a big deal.”

“Clearly it is.”

“Why do you care so much?” Otto looked at Hanschen’s eyes, and saw his anger reflected back in Hanschen’s fear. His hurt. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“Don’t be.” Hanschen relaxed further on the couch. “I care because he hurt you, Otto. I care about you, you know.”

“Why?”

“God, don’t make me- you just - ugh,” Hanschen ran his fingers through his hair trying to find the words. “You treat me like an actual goddamn human being, not a fucking robot like everyone else. You make jokes around me and you ask me about my day and I would be lying if I said I didn’t look forward to seeing you at rehearsal.” Now they were both staring at the floor.

“I care about you too, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And not just because you’re hot - I mean - fuck - forget I said that. I used to have, like, some crush on you, but I didn’t know you very well at all. I kinda thought you were - like you said - but now it’s like, you know, you’re my friend.” He smiled at Hanschen. “No one’s ever offered to stand up to me before.”

“You had a crush on me?” Otto rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, sure, focus on that.”

“No, I think it’s cute.”

“Yeah.  _ Cute.” _

“I guess the question is, do you still?” Otto felt his cheeks get hot and hoped that his stage makeup covered up any blush he might have.

“So what if I do?”

“Well, if you do, then that means I get to kiss you,” Hanschen said as he sat up. “Because you’re not the only guy in here with a crush.”

“In that case,” Otto’s heart was racing, and he could barely get enough breath to say “yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How many more of these will I do? Read the title...  
> And, as always, if you have any thoughts at all (good or bad), please take a second to comment those thoughts down below so that I can keep my stuff interesting.  
> Also I have fancasts of which characters everyone plays in the play if you want those...


	19. Ernst/Otto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when you thought Otto couldn't be shipped with anyone else, I raise you Otto/Ernst (vaguely romantic, but there's nothing explicit going on).

Ernst was a good person. Some might say he was a really good person. He paid his taxes on time, he gave money to the homeless guy that he sometimes saw on his way to the supermarket, and he’d never punched anyone. Good person.  _ Great person _ .

Even if he was a mediocre person, he didn’t deserve  _ this _ .

_ “She thinks my tractor’s sexy,” _ came the barely muffled voice from upstairs along with the equally barely muffled instruments. The vibrations were shaking the pictures on Ernst’s walls and he grabbed a broomstick and banged it on his ceiling. No change in the music. He sighed.

He was used to living in a loud apartment building. Really, he was. After growing up with four siblings, the usual noises from the apartment upstairs (and there were a lot) barely bothered him. But this was ridiculous.

He didn’t even have to look at the door number to know where the music was coming from. He debated in his mind for a second whether this was a bad idea, but then the chorus came around again and he knocked, hoping it was loud enough to hear over the music.

Just as he was raring to knock again, the door clicked and swung open (unfortunately, this intensified the music).

“Can I help you?” The man on the other side was younger than Ernst expected, and also more clean-cut. He must have been picturing some ridiculous angry farmer caricature (why would there be farmers in an apartment building?), so he was slightly relieved to see this generally normal-looking guy on the other side. Generally normal-looking because at that moment, he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Not that Ernst was complaining.

“Uh, yeah,” Ernst said over the chords of the next song. “I’m in the apartment below you, and I-”

“Oh,” the other guy said, blushing. “Hold on.” He walked back into his apartment and thankfully, the music got quieter and switched to a slower bluegrass tune. “I didn’t think anybody would be able to hear,” he said as he walked back to where Ernst was standing. “It’s like, two o’clock on a Wednesday.”

“Yeah, well-” Ernst suddenly caught a whiff of something remarkable. “Are you baking bread?”

“Come on in,” he turned around and walked off towards what was (presumably) his kitchen, leaving Ernst to decide whether to follow him or not. Ernst did, shutting the door behind him and walking into what felt like a cloud of the best-smelling air on earth. “Have a seat,” the guy said, pulling on a t-shirt. Ernst sat at the table and noticed that there were five other chairs.

“Do you have guests over a lot?”

“Huh?”

“Six chairs in your kitchen seems like a lot for one guy.”

“Oh, I have four roommates.”

“What?” Normally Ernst would be more hesitant to be making small talk in a stranger’s house, but this one was busy kneading more dough, so he didn’t have his hands free to attack Ernst.

“I know. They’re these four German guys, and they all work at the same company. I guess it has some kind of German exchange thing. They’ve known each other forever, and they responded to my ad because they thought I was German, too. Which, you know, I technically am, but the most German part of my family anymore is my name.”

“Which is?”

“Lammermeier. I’m Otto Lammermeier.”

“I can see how they’d think you’re German.”

“Like I said, technically I am. Just, like, three generations back.”

“What are their names?”

“They’re not here right now.”

“But they still have names, don’t they?”

“Yeah. There’s Moritz, Melchior, Georg, and Hans, but we all call him Hanschen.”

“Why?” Otto shrugged.

“It’s a nickname. He really hates it, but they all think it’s hilarious.” Otto laughed to himself. “It is pretty funny. What’s your name?”

“Ernst Robel.”

“So you’d fit right in!” Otto grabbed a bread tin and laughed. “Are you German as well?”

“Uh, kind of? My first name is actually Ernesto. It was my mother’s compromise. My dad’s half-German or something, so he wanted me to have a German name, but my mom wanted a family name. Ernesto is my grandpa, so they compromised by calling me Ernst for short.”

“Huh. It’s a small world, I guess.”

“Yeah.” Otto opened the oven to pull out two perfectly golden loaves of bread, putting his other loaves in. “So what’s the deal? You play really loud country music, bake tons of amazing bread, and invite strangers up to talk about coincidences?”

“Something like that,” Otto said, reaching for a different loaf that was cooling by itself. He sliced a few thick slices and grabbed some butter, put it all on a plate, and came to sit down next to Ernst. “Like I said, my roommates aren’t here. Business trip to New York. Which means I get the place all to myself, and this is how I like to spend my time.” Ernst took a bite of the bread and nearly passed out, it was  _ so good _ . “Well, minus inviting people in. What do you think?”

“It’s seriously the best bread I’ve ever eaten.” Otto grinned.

“It’s my mother’s recipe.”

“I love your mother,” Ernst sighed as he took another bite. “So, what, are you a baker or something?”

“Not really, it’s just something I love to do.”

“Maybe you should switch career paths. This is incredible.”

“You can take some with you if you’d like. I’ve got a lot of dough.”

“Can I?”

“There’s just this loaf right now, but if you want to come up in a few hours I can give you more.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Ernst said. “How about I come back later, get some bread, and we can have dinner together? You know, since you’ve got this free apartment and all.”

“I would like that very much.”

Ernst was a good person. He must have been, because only good people get boyfriends that sometimes bake incredible bread and listen to bad country music that you love to hate and give you sleepy kisses when you accidentally wake them up too early. Yeah, Ernst was a good person. Definitely a good person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go! Are you sad to see this end?


	20. Hanschen/Moritz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing but good old-fashioned friendship.

“C’mon, Moritz, don’t be such a baby.” Hanschen held his friend’s shaking hand in his as they moved further up in line. He could hear the candy rattle in Moritz’s bucket. “Don’t you want to see what’s inside?”

“Not really,” Moritz said, staring up at the dark mass of a house in front of them. “I’d rather go back to Jackson Street, where there are lights and candy bars, and definitely no monsters.” Hanschen rolled his eyes.

“I heard Georg say they’re gonna close the haunted house down next year. That this is the last year you can do it. And we’ve never done it before. Do you really want to miss your chance?”

“I’m telling you, Hanschen, I don’t want to.” Hanschen tugged him along behind him.

“But I’ll be here the whole time,” Hanschen reassured. “And if anyone tries to attack you, I’ll protect you.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. If we don’t go in tonight, we’ll never be able to say we did.” Moritz let out a great sigh.

“Okay.” A few more people went through the doors. They were next. Moritz’s grip on Hanschen’s hand tightened.

“Welcome, dearies,” the old witch said, opening the door to let them inside. “Right this way.” Moritz was like a statue; Hanschen pulled him inside.

“Relax, it was just Mrs. Robel.”

“Then why did she look so scary?”

“She’s pretending. It’s all pretend.” They walked down the shadowy hallway and towards the stairwell that was glowing with orange light. “If you look under the spiderwebs, you can see Ernst’s baby pictures,” Hanschen whispered, and Moritz had to giggle.

“Watch your step,” the deep-voiced skeleton man said. “The sisters are running some experiments downstairs. You’ll want to be careful.” They each felt something drop into their candy baskets.

“Cow tails,” Hanschen said as they walked down the stairs as quickly as they could. “Your favorite.” Moritz’s eyes went wide with fright when they reached the bottom of the stairs and saw the three witches adding ingredients to the massive black cauldron. Their faces were gnarled like twisted trees, and they cackled shrilly. “C’mon.” They moved towards the wall to make more room for the other trick-or-treaters that were crowding into the room.

“And for the final touch-” one of the witches said, putting something into the cauldron. Smoke started to pour out, and suddenly the lights began flashing. Moritz reached for Hanschen’s arm, and they held each other tightly. A huge spider jumped out of the cauldron with a BANG, and there were a few screams from the group of children as the sound of witches cackling filled the air.

“He’ll get you! Run!”

Hanschen was the first one to bolt up the stairs and out onto the porch, followed by Moritz, who was nearly doubled over with laughter.

“Hanschen,” he said, gasping for air. “Your - your screaming was so  _ loud.” _

“Was  _ not.  _ You were the scaredy-cat, remember?”

“Yeah, but I’ve never seen you run away so fast in your life!” Moritz wiped a tear from his eye. “That was a lot of fun.”

“Yeah?” He nodded vigorously. “Thanks for going with me.”

“Come on,” Moritz said, reaching for Hanschen’s hand. “There’s probably still houses on Jackson that we haven’t hit yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for taking this journey with me! By the way, the events in this particular one are inspired by an actual "haunted house" that was in my neighborhood. I only went once, and the details are a little fuzzy, but I did my best.
> 
> I really enjoyed trying out different pairings and different styles! So much so that I'm probably not finished. In fact, I know I'm not finished. If you have a request for a pairing, feel free to either comment it below, or come say hi on my social platforms (links below). Even though I'm finished, I'd still love to hear your thoughts. Which was your favorite? Which was the worst? I love feedback!  
> Until next time, Icarus.  
> [(theater tumblr)](https://thereinkiss.tumblr.com/) [(main tumblr)](http://zartharn.tumblr.com/) [Twitter (@Slickarus)](https://twitter.com/slickarus)


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